If you’re a midtwentysomething and have been working at a paper mill all day prior to your jolly old backslapping night out, the prospect of the schlep to Highbury and Islington doesn’t exactly grab you, especially if sleb-by-association Peaches Geldof’s grinning mug adorns the promotional shots at the club night which was taking place there. Which was the Cave Club. More on that in the future at some point.
The Argyll on the street of the same name was to host our pre-dance catch-up. It’s palatial. Not too different from a 1920s smoking room with frosted glass pane panels demarcating a zigzag approach to the main bar. Borderline ballroom-esque ultimately. Cute staff who permit us a spend of less than a tenner on plastic “because you look nice” are a convenient add-on.
Time to go dancing! We check out Unzipped at the Fly on New Oxford St. And we won’t be back. Which means you get two club reviews in one article. Although we did dance to one song. Anyhow, we shoulda known the three quid invite was a pretext for desperation. I’m remaining outside until the DJ realises cloth ears are not conducive to being a good mixmeister (unlikely) or whatever bland soul track currently playing peters out (thank God it has). Three quid, well a drinker would argue that’s less pence than a soft drink so we tumble in against a forgettable soundtrack but it’s Sofi’s “let’s just get drunk!” holler that resonates in my ear (if not with my idea of a good night). Gin and tonic for me though, prompting this asinine sneer: “Geee n teee, how old’re you?” But not from the bar staff (who to the place’s credit, are quite demure). Yuk, some wideboy. I’m positive Dot Cotton prefers sherry, no?
And the music? Blur’s brilliant pastiche of the 18 – 30s package deal, ‘Boys and Girls’ is great but Chemical Brothers elicits 2007’s probably unofficial word of the year, ‘meh’. We’re like so already over the road. En route to the Borderline in case ye ask, off Charing X Road. I hadn’t been here for the club night since August 2006. Which has a lot to do with Feeling Gloomy being so amazing.
“Seven quid ladies”. No, that’s not what we are, although we do ask, “You do us for six?” Aww lovely. It’s rammed and sweaty in here. But everyone that comes here knows this and doesn’t seem to care. ‘Cigarettes and Alcohol’ blasts out, Smiths, Arcade Fire, the Stone Roses; it’s like Xfm’s Weekender show but with nothing recent. ‘Got any Maximo Park?’ asks Sof. ‘Too late for that now’, comes the swift rejoinder. 3 am and it’s over all too soon 
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